Rain
by SilouhetteDreams
Summary: England reminisces about the past, and realizes a few things he should've centuries ago. Just some New World Family fluff and a bit of suggested USUK.


Here in London, it rain's quite often. In fact, the average amount of rain we get annually is about 2 feet-23 inches, to be exact.

I don't want the rain. I figure that many other countries would be just jolly to get this bloody precipitation, whether it be rain or snow or whatever else feels like falling from the sky.

I touch the window, which is colder that what I had thought before. I rest my forehead against it, and my eyes chase a raindrop that mimics the tear running down my cheek.

I wipe it away.

I'm the United Kingdom, and I don't cry. Why would I cry? I'm a not a little Nancy boy, and I don't need my mum.

...

I never even had a mum.

My feet guide me down the hall, and I look up at the photographs that are nailed deep into the drywall. They're pieces of time frozen by a flash. There's one of France and I, and he's pulling me close to him and I'm trying to push him away. I take it off the wall, and gaze down at it.

Drip.

I wipe off the frame. Blasted ceiling is probably leaking.

...My eyes are blurry, I can't tell.

France raised me. I chuckled. Maybe he was my mum.

I would never say he wasn't a frog-faced pervert, but he wasn't that bad of a guy.

We had a family in the New World.

I see myself, smiling, holding a small child with bright violet eyes and an unruly sprig of light blond hair.

That boy hated me.

His name was Mathieu, or Canada. I never forgot his name when he was in my house. Neither did Francis. But today it seems the boy can never speak up enough to voice his opinion.

Silly kid. I raised him differently. But all he could do was speak bloody French. I had to learn the godforsaken language without him knowing to get him to even mind me.

He would cry at nights for France.

I would rush in and try to comfort the lad, but I couldn't ever do so. He would have to cry himself to sleep, after he got tired out from trying to push me away or squirm out of my arms.

"Non, A-Angleterre...P-P-Papa...V-vous m'emporté! J-je veux aller r-retour!"

He said this certain phrase quite often.

_"No, England. Papa. You took me away. I want to go back."_

Alfred was the one who finally translated for me.

I didn't know France was teaching Al French behind my back.

He had waddled into my office, dragging a stuffed rabbit behind him.

His bright blue eyes blinked up at me as he tugged on my pant leg. "Engwand."

I smiled. Surely he would get rid of that speech impediment soon, but it was certainly adorable.

I picked the tiny nation up. "Yes, America?"

I never liked calling him America. It made him sound fake. He was Al or Alfred. He wasn't a country or history. Not yet at least. He was just getting started.

"Mattie wants to go home."

This had caught me off guard. I sat him up on my desk, his cowlick bouncing about. I licked my hand and tried to get it to lay down along with the rest of his amber waves, but nope. It just shot back up.

I later realized that was the island, Nantucket, and it just simply couldn't be worked with.

"Mattie says he wants to go back to France."

I gave him a scolding look. "Now, I told you not to fib. Did he tell you this himself?"

He shook his head and sat his bunny in his tiny lap and gave it a squeeze.

"He tells you though, Engwand. Every night."

I pressed my quill a bit too tight, and the point broke.

I put Al back down and dashed down the flight of stairs. France was on the sofa, rocking Matthew and singing him a lullaby in French. I only allowed him to visit every two weeks and on the weekends, just to make sure he didn't interfere with their education.

"You taught Alfred that blasted language?"

He chuckled, his blue eyes so calm it made me want to hit him even harder. "Oui, now shush, Matheiu is sleeping. Has he been sick? He doesn't seem to be rested."

I grabbed a nice handful of his disgusting hair and gave it an equally nice tug. "I didn't want you exposing them to anything I didn't approve of."

France simply grabbed my arm and dug his nails deep into the skin, smiling up to me brightly. "Well, Angleterre, they're mine too."

I finally put the picture of Matthew down. He looked too miserable in it for me to stare at it any longer.

I tried to make him into my image. His name isn't Matthew. It's Mathieu. And he's Francis's colony.

Then there was a picture of Alfred. He was older, practically grown. The lad was even taller than me.

We weren't getting along then. It was his own fault.

He had started that ridiculous teenage rebellion. A load of bullocks, I might add.

He had grown older and was now working in his colonies as a colonist himself-a very powerful one with enough brute strength to pull a cart full of building wood alone, but indeed, human.

I was busy back here in England, and I hadn't visited him as much as I'd promised. I didn't expect him to mind, he was busy himself after all.

It had been a while, about two months, and I'd sent word that I would visit the growing nation. He had thirteen beautiful colonies that I wanted to see, and I couldn't deny that I was proud of the lad. I could see he was growing up.

I sailed the Atlantic, and then traveled on to Massachusetts. Alfred was currently residing there, for some reason. I wasn't too aware of what was going on.

I found the house and let myself inside. America was still my colony after all.

The young nation was seated at a small table, his arms crossed and a scowl. I sighed.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I suppose. It's been a while, hasn't it, England?" His voice was so level, now I realize that the lines were well rehearsed. He'd been planning this for a while.

"Well yes, I suppose so." I started brewing some tea. I hadn't realized that I was probably overstepping my boundaries.

I heard Alfred sigh. "We're in Boston, Arthur."

I blinked, a bit caught off guard at him using my human name. "Yes, what of it?"

"The massacre."

I rolled my eyes. "The massacre was a snowball fight gone wrong." It was also the beginning of the Revolutionary War. I am so bloody daft.

America slammed his palms down on the table, the sound making china rattle. "It was more than that! Your soldiers attacked ours! I have lost civilians, Arthur!"

I shot him a look. "What your fancy newspaper clippings leave out is that your precious colonists started the riot."

Alfred looked down, he couldn't deny it.

I poured him some tea.

The blond casually lifted the teacup and dropped it on the floor, the porcelain shattering into bits.

This became historically known as the Boston Tea Party.

The Revolutionary War was enough to tear me apart over and over again.

I cried. I admit it. I fell to my knees and cried that day, before my ex-colony whom I loved so much it couldn't have ever been safe.

_"I just want my freedom!"_

The words echo in my head. I have fallen to my knees the same as I did that day, centuries ago. I cry out to the empty hallways and dusty photographs. The tears roll down my face hard, and if I have a heart that isn't already too broken, I feel it ache again and perhaps shatter once more. It's too late to drink the pain away now. I never should've thought back to all of my mistakes.

"France, I wish we fought less. You're the only one who never left me."

"Canada, you're name is Mathieu. I never meant to try to make you into Matthew or anything else. I never should've taken you from France. No wonder you're afraid you won't be noticed. I was oblivious to what you truly wanted ever since you were a child."

"Al-No, America. I should've let you go. I shouldn't have tried so hard to put strings on you as you tried to cut them. I wouldn't let you trade with anyone else, because you were mine. You'd always have someone to trade with as well. The taxation on imports was to protect you. Even as a colony we had enemies. I wish you understood. But now I see that it's for the best. You've grown up... You're independent."

I whispered all of this softly to myself. I was now all alone. I was selfish. This...This was the result of what I had done back then. I'm broken, lonely, and a shadow of the empire I once was.

There was a knock on my door. I figured it was probably Allen or another subordinate.

"Today I'm off. Please, see me tomorrow."

The knock continued.

I groan and open the door. "Wha-"

Arms were thrown around me. I blink and turn to see who it was.

"Eeenglaaand!"

"Ugh! Alfred! Ow, ow! You giant buffoon what in hell-"

He releases me from his death grip. France and Canada stand beside him, Canada holding his polar bear in his arms like he used to for comfort.

"Bonjour, Angleterre~" Francis winked obnoxiously, but I was too afraid they'd heard everything to want to slap him across the face.

"What's going on?" I hope my earlier fit wasn't obvious, red eyes, streaked skin...Surely not, right?

"Happy birthday!" Alfred cries and suffocates me again. "We wouldn't forget our wittle Engwand's Guy Fawkes Day would we? No we wouldn't no we wouldn't no we-"

"OFF." I push him away, but I couldn't help but smile at the 'wittle Engwand' part. "Thank you... A lot."

I looked up, now smiling at the lot of them.

Mathieu finally stepped out from behind France.

"Nous sommes famille." Francis pulls him close, and gently kisses his temple.

I take a step closer, now with a small smile down at my feet.

"We _are_ family, Mathieu."


End file.
